Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
PART 2
Willow opened her eyes, only to be greeted by darkness. She knew the spell had worked, she'd felt it go through her and envelope Spike before collapsing. What she didn't know, was where they were. Shifting a tiny bit, she felt something itchy underneath her, and tried to move, but something heavy held her in place. Panic was very near the surface, and in fact was forcing her to shove blindly at the weight.
A deep voice next to her ear whispered at her harshly. "Hold still, damn it. I'll move when it's safe."
She opened her mouth to tell Spike she couldn't breathe, but he put his hand over the lower half of her face, practically smothering her in his attempt to keep her quiet. Extremely uncomfortable in the position she was in, she groaned and let her head drop to the ground. Wriggling to the left, she found, was no better than before, so she scooted to the right. Something sharp poked into her back tearing through the flesh by her hip. It forced a scream from her which was muffled by his hand. She bit it, hard, clamping her teeth onto the fleshy part of his palm, trying to hold in another scream.
Spike, at the feel of her teeth on his hand, groaned silently. The little witch was driving him insane. All that damn wiggling underneath him had made him very aware of the soft female flesh underneath his. And now she was biting him.
Vampire foreplay.
He glared down at her in the gloom of the stable, but stopped the angry retort on his lips when he saw the tears in her eyes and the pain on her face. Okay, so, apparently something was wrong with her.
He lifted himself up the smallest bit and saw the immediate relief on her face. Her mouth let go of his hand, and she begged him with her eyes to remove all of his weight. He did so, with a quick glance around to assure him they were alone now.
He rolled off of her and sat up, looking around the stable. They were in a stall, filled with fresh straw and thankfully no horse. Since no sunlight was poking through the numerous gaps and chinks in the wooden structure, he knew it was night. The two men who'd come in just after he and Willow dropped in, had finally left.
He'd been aware the whole trip, but he hadn't seen anything except the bright white light from Willow's mouth, then darkness, an almost interminable darkness. Finally, the light returned and he was staring at a straw strewn stable as they dropped to the ground.
The building was empty of man and animal at the moment, which meant now was a good time to leave. Standing up, he reached his hand down to help Willow to her feet, but she didn't take it. He glanced down at her.
She was in the middle of the stable, lying atop a blanket of clean straw, gasping, and trying desperately to catch her breath.
"My back," she rasped out, trying to roll over to show him, but she wasn't able to move enough.
He knelt down and looked her over, sucking in a breath when he saw the long piece of metal protruding from her back. Hell, she better not die, he needed her to get back. He knew his anger would only scare her, so he kept his tone light.
"Bloody hell, pet, you'd do anything to get out of this, wouldn't you?" She didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing even... she was unconscious. He reached underneath the straw and grabbed the offending weapon, sliding it quickly out of her back. He threw the pitchfork out of the stall, and bent down to pick her up. Her new three inch deep wound bled down his arm and he was reminded of just how much of the stuff she'd lost tonight. He was amazed she wasn't knocking on death's door for tea and crumpets.
She whimpered slightly when he cradled her closer and stalked out of the stable, his boots crunching on the straw littering the filthy floor.
He nearly dropped her when he got his first good look at his surroundings. "Bloody hell," he mumbled, as a horse drawn carriage passed in front of him. "Where the hell are we?"
Spike glared at the bed again, placing all blame for this on the redhead's shoulders. She had brought them here.
To bloody Ireland. To the bloody year seventeen fifty-three. It was all her bloody fault!
He took another drag off his cigarette, reminding himself to enjoy it, since it was one of his last pre-rolled, good-tasting ones for who knew how long. He kicked his foot out petulantly, knocking over a small night table next to the bed, then continued on his way to the other side of the room. He'd been pacing for a good ten minutes now, waiting for Willow to wake up, and he was growing more impatient by the second. She'd been out for over an hour, mumbling in her sleep, calling out for the blonde witch. After the third time, he'd cruelly informed her that the witch was dead, just to get her to shut up.
There wasn't a whole lot to do while he waited, except smoke and pace. He'd cleaned her wound as soon as he'd gotten her up to their room, and bandaged it as well. There wasn't much he could do about the bruises and swelling on her face though. But, they seemed to be healing pretty darn quickly on their own, already they were fading, faster than a vampire heals. Had to be a side effect of the spell.
The inn keeper had blanched at the sight of the passed out girl in Spike's arms when he strode up to the desk, demanding a room. The fat-ass had seen her bruised and bloodied face, the bites on her neck and their odd clothing, but hadn't said anything. Spike was glad for that, they didn't need any trouble while they were here. And yet, when he didn't say anything, just cowered behind his safe little desk, Spike felt anger consume him on Willow's behalf. For all this guy knew, Spike was going to kill her, or already had.
Spike kicked the table again, letting his gaze drift over to the small figure huddled under the covers on the bed. He drew in a breath upon smelling the blood practically permeating the room. He needed to get the hell out of there and feed.
He shuddered uncharacteristically at the thought of finding a pig or something to drink from.
Willow moaned and opened her eyes. Finally, Spike thought, stalking back over to the bed and sitting down. He waited for her to take in their surroundings before speaking. She looked at the wooden walls, the old furnishings, the lack of any electricity or plumbing, and the polished silver that was used as a mirror.
He nodded. "Guess what, Witch. This isn't nineteen ninety-nine. Wanna take a wild guess as to when it is?" She shook her head, frightened at the anger in his voice. "Try seventeen fifty-three."
"How?" she asked, her voice sounding tiny.
"You bloody well tell me, pet. You're the one who had the power to take us where we needed to go. Just had to get a gander at the human Angel, didn't you? What is it with women and the wanker? Is it the brooding? The dark puppy dog eyes? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I don't see it. He's a killer, same as me, same as every other vampire out there." He flung his arm toward the shuttered window angrily. "And yet, all you women are drawn to him like a bloody moth to a bloody flame!"
He stalked away from the bed, pissed at the world, pissed at the girl, but most of all, pissed at Angel. All of Spike's vampire life had been overshadowed by Angelus. He had Darla, he had Dru, he had every bloody thing first. Not that he wanted the stuck-up blonde bitch, but if he had wanted her, he wouldn't have had a chance in hell. If Spike even thought about taking someone or something for himself, Angelus had to get there first. And now, because of the poofter and his, 'oh pity me' crap, Spike was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the human version of Dru's sire out there.
Willow sat up slowly, hissing in pain only for a second. Most of the pain was gone. She watched as Spike paced back and forth in front of the large bed, his face going through a myriad of emotions, most prominent being jealousy. Must be hard for him, she thought, to be in this time and place, so close to the vampire he hated more than any other. No, not vampire. Right now, Liam was a man. Human. She bit her lip as curiosity shot through her.
He was right about one thing; she was curious to see the human Angel, but not because of any feelings she had for him. It was just morbid fascination. She hadn't ever harbored any kind of romantic feelings for the brooding vampire, even though he was gorgeous. Buffy herself had been rather skeptical when Willow told her she wasn't actively attracted to him, just passively appreciative.
Spike stopped pacing, and sat back down on the bed. She shrugged at him, causing the blanket to fall to her lap. Feeling cold air on her previously fully clothed shoulders, she looked down in dread. "You undressed me?" she yelped, yanking the blanket back up to her shoulders. "What gave you the right to do anything to me while I was unconscious? God, did you feed off of me again too?" She peeked under the covers, thanking God that he hadn't completely stripped her.
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "Would you prefer I left your wound untended. I'm sure you wouldn't have gotten too badly infected from the stable floor, or the pitchfork I pulled out of your back." He glared down at her, unable to believe her modesty meant more to her than her health. "Penicillin's a long way off, love, and I can't afford to lose you."
"Aw, I didn't know you cared," she bit out, then sighed. This wouldn't get them anywhere. They needed to work together to get this mess cleared up, and fix things, and if they were constantly at each other's throats, they wouldn't get anything accomplished. "Look, we're both stuck here. I don't know how or why, but we are, so... thank you. For bandaging my back and stuff." She smiled at him, asking for a truce. He just stared back at her. "And," she added, "I have no real desire to see Angel as a human. A little morbid curiosity perhaps, but not a burning need. He's a friend, that's all, I've never been attracted to him. Hello. Buffy's boyfriend, also..." she hooked a thumb at her chest, "gay."
Spike accepted her answer, and her truce with a silent nod. Then his lips turned up slightly and he chuckled. "Gotta admit, I'm rather curious to see him as well. See if he was as much of a wanker human as he is now."
"You don't know what he was like as a human?" She frowned in confusion. "But, you spent years with him and Darla. Didn't he ever mention his life as a human?"
"Little snippets. I know he was a worthless drunk, but that's about it. Angelus wasn't deep into the details when it came to his human counterpart. I think he was as embarrassed as--" he stopped short, looking away.
"As embarrassed as what?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing," he told her, and that was the end of that. He wasn't going to elaborate.
"Oh." She was still curious, but mostly she was grateful that he'd agreed not to drag this out any longer than need be. She looked at his profile, admiring his almost Grecian looks. Now, seeing William the Bloody was a different matter entirely. She wouldn't mind taking a peek or two at the human Spike; she was extremely curious about him. Angel had a soul, so she knew what he was like with one, but what about Spike?
Nope, she wouldn't mind seeing him at all.
Spike stood up suddenly, startling her. She jumped slightly, jarring her back, but there was none of the expected pain. She turned to look behind her at the wound, but couldn't quite see it, so she reached behind her. Her hand grazed the soft cloth covering the hole in her back and she lifted up one edge. There was still no pain. Brow furrowed, she pulled the cloth off and dropped it to the bed.
"What are you doing?"
She tossed him a look over her shoulder, having forgotten him in her struggle to see the wound. His eyes were glowing yellow and were fixed on her neck. She only spared him a quick glance before kneeling on the bed and turning her back toward him, holding the sheet to her chest. "Is there even anything there? There's no pain."
Spike's eyes roamed over her nearly naked back. "No," he ground out. "There's nothing there except blood." He didn't sound at all interested in the mystery of her missing wound, he just growled and stalked as far away from her as he could get without leaving the room. And then he did leave. "I've gotta eat," he said curtly, slamming the door behind him.
Willow sat down in the middle of the bed, the sheet still clutched to her chest, and stared after him in confusion. "Well," she said lamely, "was it something I said?"
PART 2
Willow opened her eyes, only to be greeted by darkness. She knew the spell had worked, she'd felt it go through her and envelope Spike before collapsing. What she didn't know, was where they were. Shifting a tiny bit, she felt something itchy underneath her, and tried to move, but something heavy held her in place. Panic was very near the surface, and in fact was forcing her to shove blindly at the weight.
A deep voice next to her ear whispered at her harshly. "Hold still, damn it. I'll move when it's safe."
She opened her mouth to tell Spike she couldn't breathe, but he put his hand over the lower half of her face, practically smothering her in his attempt to keep her quiet. Extremely uncomfortable in the position she was in, she groaned and let her head drop to the ground. Wriggling to the left, she found, was no better than before, so she scooted to the right. Something sharp poked into her back tearing through the flesh by her hip. It forced a scream from her which was muffled by his hand. She bit it, hard, clamping her teeth onto the fleshy part of his palm, trying to hold in another scream.
Spike, at the feel of her teeth on his hand, groaned silently. The little witch was driving him insane. All that damn wiggling underneath him had made him very aware of the soft female flesh underneath his. And now she was biting him.
Vampire foreplay.
He glared down at her in the gloom of the stable, but stopped the angry retort on his lips when he saw the tears in her eyes and the pain on her face. Okay, so, apparently something was wrong with her.
He lifted himself up the smallest bit and saw the immediate relief on her face. Her mouth let go of his hand, and she begged him with her eyes to remove all of his weight. He did so, with a quick glance around to assure him they were alone now.
He rolled off of her and sat up, looking around the stable. They were in a stall, filled with fresh straw and thankfully no horse. Since no sunlight was poking through the numerous gaps and chinks in the wooden structure, he knew it was night. The two men who'd come in just after he and Willow dropped in, had finally left.
He'd been aware the whole trip, but he hadn't seen anything except the bright white light from Willow's mouth, then darkness, an almost interminable darkness. Finally, the light returned and he was staring at a straw strewn stable as they dropped to the ground.
The building was empty of man and animal at the moment, which meant now was a good time to leave. Standing up, he reached his hand down to help Willow to her feet, but she didn't take it. He glanced down at her.
She was in the middle of the stable, lying atop a blanket of clean straw, gasping, and trying desperately to catch her breath.
"My back," she rasped out, trying to roll over to show him, but she wasn't able to move enough.
He knelt down and looked her over, sucking in a breath when he saw the long piece of metal protruding from her back. Hell, she better not die, he needed her to get back. He knew his anger would only scare her, so he kept his tone light.
"Bloody hell, pet, you'd do anything to get out of this, wouldn't you?" She didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing even... she was unconscious. He reached underneath the straw and grabbed the offending weapon, sliding it quickly out of her back. He threw the pitchfork out of the stall, and bent down to pick her up. Her new three inch deep wound bled down his arm and he was reminded of just how much of the stuff she'd lost tonight. He was amazed she wasn't knocking on death's door for tea and crumpets.
She whimpered slightly when he cradled her closer and stalked out of the stable, his boots crunching on the straw littering the filthy floor.
He nearly dropped her when he got his first good look at his surroundings. "Bloody hell," he mumbled, as a horse drawn carriage passed in front of him. "Where the hell are we?"
Spike glared at the bed again, placing all blame for this on the redhead's shoulders. She had brought them here.
To bloody Ireland. To the bloody year seventeen fifty-three. It was all her bloody fault!
He took another drag off his cigarette, reminding himself to enjoy it, since it was one of his last pre-rolled, good-tasting ones for who knew how long. He kicked his foot out petulantly, knocking over a small night table next to the bed, then continued on his way to the other side of the room. He'd been pacing for a good ten minutes now, waiting for Willow to wake up, and he was growing more impatient by the second. She'd been out for over an hour, mumbling in her sleep, calling out for the blonde witch. After the third time, he'd cruelly informed her that the witch was dead, just to get her to shut up.
There wasn't a whole lot to do while he waited, except smoke and pace. He'd cleaned her wound as soon as he'd gotten her up to their room, and bandaged it as well. There wasn't much he could do about the bruises and swelling on her face though. But, they seemed to be healing pretty darn quickly on their own, already they were fading, faster than a vampire heals. Had to be a side effect of the spell.
The inn keeper had blanched at the sight of the passed out girl in Spike's arms when he strode up to the desk, demanding a room. The fat-ass had seen her bruised and bloodied face, the bites on her neck and their odd clothing, but hadn't said anything. Spike was glad for that, they didn't need any trouble while they were here. And yet, when he didn't say anything, just cowered behind his safe little desk, Spike felt anger consume him on Willow's behalf. For all this guy knew, Spike was going to kill her, or already had.
Spike kicked the table again, letting his gaze drift over to the small figure huddled under the covers on the bed. He drew in a breath upon smelling the blood practically permeating the room. He needed to get the hell out of there and feed.
He shuddered uncharacteristically at the thought of finding a pig or something to drink from.
Willow moaned and opened her eyes. Finally, Spike thought, stalking back over to the bed and sitting down. He waited for her to take in their surroundings before speaking. She looked at the wooden walls, the old furnishings, the lack of any electricity or plumbing, and the polished silver that was used as a mirror.
He nodded. "Guess what, Witch. This isn't nineteen ninety-nine. Wanna take a wild guess as to when it is?" She shook her head, frightened at the anger in his voice. "Try seventeen fifty-three."
"How?" she asked, her voice sounding tiny.
"You bloody well tell me, pet. You're the one who had the power to take us where we needed to go. Just had to get a gander at the human Angel, didn't you? What is it with women and the wanker? Is it the brooding? The dark puppy dog eyes? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I don't see it. He's a killer, same as me, same as every other vampire out there." He flung his arm toward the shuttered window angrily. "And yet, all you women are drawn to him like a bloody moth to a bloody flame!"
He stalked away from the bed, pissed at the world, pissed at the girl, but most of all, pissed at Angel. All of Spike's vampire life had been overshadowed by Angelus. He had Darla, he had Dru, he had every bloody thing first. Not that he wanted the stuck-up blonde bitch, but if he had wanted her, he wouldn't have had a chance in hell. If Spike even thought about taking someone or something for himself, Angelus had to get there first. And now, because of the poofter and his, 'oh pity me' crap, Spike was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the human version of Dru's sire out there.
Willow sat up slowly, hissing in pain only for a second. Most of the pain was gone. She watched as Spike paced back and forth in front of the large bed, his face going through a myriad of emotions, most prominent being jealousy. Must be hard for him, she thought, to be in this time and place, so close to the vampire he hated more than any other. No, not vampire. Right now, Liam was a man. Human. She bit her lip as curiosity shot through her.
He was right about one thing; she was curious to see the human Angel, but not because of any feelings she had for him. It was just morbid fascination. She hadn't ever harbored any kind of romantic feelings for the brooding vampire, even though he was gorgeous. Buffy herself had been rather skeptical when Willow told her she wasn't actively attracted to him, just passively appreciative.
Spike stopped pacing, and sat back down on the bed. She shrugged at him, causing the blanket to fall to her lap. Feeling cold air on her previously fully clothed shoulders, she looked down in dread. "You undressed me?" she yelped, yanking the blanket back up to her shoulders. "What gave you the right to do anything to me while I was unconscious? God, did you feed off of me again too?" She peeked under the covers, thanking God that he hadn't completely stripped her.
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "Would you prefer I left your wound untended. I'm sure you wouldn't have gotten too badly infected from the stable floor, or the pitchfork I pulled out of your back." He glared down at her, unable to believe her modesty meant more to her than her health. "Penicillin's a long way off, love, and I can't afford to lose you."
"Aw, I didn't know you cared," she bit out, then sighed. This wouldn't get them anywhere. They needed to work together to get this mess cleared up, and fix things, and if they were constantly at each other's throats, they wouldn't get anything accomplished. "Look, we're both stuck here. I don't know how or why, but we are, so... thank you. For bandaging my back and stuff." She smiled at him, asking for a truce. He just stared back at her. "And," she added, "I have no real desire to see Angel as a human. A little morbid curiosity perhaps, but not a burning need. He's a friend, that's all, I've never been attracted to him. Hello. Buffy's boyfriend, also..." she hooked a thumb at her chest, "gay."
Spike accepted her answer, and her truce with a silent nod. Then his lips turned up slightly and he chuckled. "Gotta admit, I'm rather curious to see him as well. See if he was as much of a wanker human as he is now."
"You don't know what he was like as a human?" She frowned in confusion. "But, you spent years with him and Darla. Didn't he ever mention his life as a human?"
"Little snippets. I know he was a worthless drunk, but that's about it. Angelus wasn't deep into the details when it came to his human counterpart. I think he was as embarrassed as--" he stopped short, looking away.
"As embarrassed as what?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing," he told her, and that was the end of that. He wasn't going to elaborate.
"Oh." She was still curious, but mostly she was grateful that he'd agreed not to drag this out any longer than need be. She looked at his profile, admiring his almost Grecian looks. Now, seeing William the Bloody was a different matter entirely. She wouldn't mind taking a peek or two at the human Spike; she was extremely curious about him. Angel had a soul, so she knew what he was like with one, but what about Spike?
Nope, she wouldn't mind seeing him at all.
Spike stood up suddenly, startling her. She jumped slightly, jarring her back, but there was none of the expected pain. She turned to look behind her at the wound, but couldn't quite see it, so she reached behind her. Her hand grazed the soft cloth covering the hole in her back and she lifted up one edge. There was still no pain. Brow furrowed, she pulled the cloth off and dropped it to the bed.
"What are you doing?"
She tossed him a look over her shoulder, having forgotten him in her struggle to see the wound. His eyes were glowing yellow and were fixed on her neck. She only spared him a quick glance before kneeling on the bed and turning her back toward him, holding the sheet to her chest. "Is there even anything there? There's no pain."
Spike's eyes roamed over her nearly naked back. "No," he ground out. "There's nothing there except blood." He didn't sound at all interested in the mystery of her missing wound, he just growled and stalked as far away from her as he could get without leaving the room. And then he did leave. "I've gotta eat," he said curtly, slamming the door behind him.
Willow sat down in the middle of the bed, the sheet still clutched to her chest, and stared after him in confusion. "Well," she said lamely, "was it something I said?"